


you keep it all between the lines

by astano



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 21:41:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astano/pseuds/astano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’d like to say they’re careful, but they’re not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you keep it all between the lines

She’s only been working with Franky for a few weeks when it happens. In that time, they’ve built up a wary... not friendship, not really, because she can’t be truly friends with someone under her care, and regardless, she’s not sure they could be friends even in another situation, but there’s something there, anyway. Once she manages to prove to Franky that she isn’t going anywhere, at least not in terms of helping her gain her HSC, that she’s in it as much as Franky is, Franky opens up a little. Not much, but it becomes easy to talk to her, when she’s not being inappropriate, that is.

At first, when Franky lets slip that one of the other inmates has managed to get their hands on a mobile phone, she doesn’t know what to do. It’s not a major infraction. But it’s definitely not minor, either. Erica realises if it were to ever come out that she knew about it she could be facing disciplinary action that could set her career back years.

Franky never finds out it was as a result of Erica’s report that the cells were searched.

* * *

When she lets Franky take the fall for supplying drugs to the other women, she justifies her actions by thinking about how bad it would look for her, so soon after she started as Governor, to have someone she was responsible for bringing into the prison guilty of the offence.

Justifying herself, however, does nothing to stop the roiling of her stomach, the hatred she feels for herself, every time she thinks of Franky’s face, of her words, her tears.

It’s the first time she thinks that, despite being the one behind bars, Franky may actually be the better person.

* * *

Hating herself, even sometimes hating Franky a little, doesn’t at all seem to stop Erica from _wanting_ Franky, and they’ve been doing this—this _kissing_ thing—for weeks now. It’s not gone any further, which Erica tries to tell herself she’s thankful for, but it’s a lie, and she knows it.

Franky likes to push her up against the wall in the corner of her office, just like that first time, except she’s learnt now; learnt how Erica likes to have her wrists held above her head, Franky’s fingers biting into the skin so hard she has bruises for days. 

Sometime she looks at Erica long and hard when they’re sitting across from each other in the library, eyes dark with promise as she says she’s going to find a book. Erica counts the seconds until it seems appropriate to follow. When she finds Franky, always leaning casually against the shelves with that damn smirk on her face, Erica feels breathless, lets Franky draw her in closer with a small jerk of her head. The feel of the shelves digging into her back is a sharp counterpoint to the softness of Franky’s body flush against her front. Franky’s fingers tightening in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat to Franky’s mouth, makes her shudder with a need that’s been suppressed for far too long. It makes staying quiet, stifling the moans, the whimpers, even harder than usual.

Then there are the times where Erica closes the door to Franky’s cell behind her and lets Franky press her against that for long minutes. It’s always hardest to stop when they have the illusion of privacy.

She’d like to say they’re careful, but they’re not. 

It’s unfortunate, but unsurprising when Vera walks into her office unannounced, catching them in the act.

Erica stands there stunned, which, after the fact, she realises probably adds more credence to Franky’s ever confident, “Sorry, Miss Davidson. That was completely uncalled for, but I just couldn’t help myself.”

Erica shoots a glance to Vera, who’s watching them and looking almost as stunned as Erica feels. It takes another few seconds to collect herself and weigh up her options.

Franky spends a month in the slot for assaulting the Governor. Erica has a hard time convincing her superiors that she doesn’t want to press charges.

* * *

That should have been enough for Erica to realise things were getting out of control. It wasn’t. At some point, kissing turned into touching turned into Franky’s fingers pressing into her hard and fast and _perfect_ , and there was yet another line that had been crossed without Erica really knowing how to stop it.

She knows she _should_ stop it; this time, they’re in Franky’s cell of all places, and while they could explain away a closed door, explaining their nakedness away would not be quite so easy. But she closes the door behind her, and Franky’s pressed up hard against her back, the fingers tugging at the hem of her blouse so insistent that Franky has her untucked and unbuttoned more quickly than Erica thinks should be possible.

Her jacket and blouse land in a pile at her feet. Franky’s hands immediately smooth over the newly exposed skin, sweeping up to flick the catch of her bra. Erica shudders as Franky’s lips land soft against her shoulder before teeth sink in, scraping lightly, then nipping with a sting that spreads heat downwards.

“Turn around,” Franky says, taking a step back to give Erica room., and it’s almost second nature now, how quickly she obeys the commanding tone of Franky’s voice.

Franky stands in front of her once she’s turned, tugs at the zipper of her skirt until it’s lowered enough to allow the material to slide down her legs. She steps out of it, and Franky throws it aside to land with the rest of her clothes.

“You’ve been thinking about this all day, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” Erica says helplessly.

Franky’s fingers toy with the hem of her underwear, and then she’s dragging them down. They drop to the floor and Erica kicks them away.

“Thinking about me touching you, kissing you, fucking you until the only thing you can remember is my name.”

“Franky...”

Franky smirks, then leans in to kiss Erica. It’s hot and slow and so dirty it makes Erica’s head spin. 

When Franky pulls back, Erica’s breathing is ragged, completely out of control, and she’s gripping tight to Franky’s shirt, like it’s the only thing keeping her together.

It’s nowhere near enough, though, when Franky’s next words are, “Spread your legs for me.”

Erica moans helplessly, and does what Franky asks, inching further down the door in the process. It’s uncomfortable only for a second, because then Franky’s mouth is on her again, playing over her breasts with lips and teeth and tongue, and her hands slide over Erica’s skin, tormenting in their slow trek downwards.

Finally, when Erica feels like she might break, Franky grips her hip with one hand while the other presses between her legs. The first pass of Franky’s fingertips through her wetness causes Erica to buck and cry out. She’s soaked, and only gets wetter when Franky slides inside—two fingers at first, but then a third when two just isn’t enough.

“I can’t stop thinking about the things I want to do to you,” Franky says.

Erica groans as a multitude of possibilities—many of which have been nightly companions for months—flash before her eyes. 

“You’d do anything I told you to.”

It’s not a question, but Erica nods anyway, and her hips twitch desperately as Franky’s fingers continue to move, each thrust drawing breathy gasps and whimpers from Erica’s throat.

“I want to tie you up,” Franky says, and Erica almost sobs, feeling herself clench around Franky’s fingers. “Fuck you until you can’t even move, until you’re begging me to stop, and then I’ll make you come again, just because I can. And you will, won’t you?”

Erica can’t respond, she can’t even think. Franky’s words, the fingers inside her, it’s driving her out of her mind, but it doesn’t matter, because Franky’s still talking. 

“You can’t get enough of me, can you? My fingers, my mouth. Sometimes I think about fucking you with a strap-on. Just bending you over and taking you until you’re screaming my name.”

“Oh God...”

“You like that idea?” Franky smirks, presses in deeper with her fingers and curls them upwards.

“Yes. God... Franky...” Erica gives up on trying to speak, the words trailing off into moans she doesn’t have any hope of containing. She works herself down onto Franky’s fingers almost frantically, and let’s Franky’s voice wash over her, driving her higher.

Franky doesn’t stop whispering every dirty thought that crosses her mind, doesn’t stop with the    
insistent push and pull of her fingers. Her eyes never leave Erica’s face, and Erica can’t look away, can’t do anything but cry out helplessly as her orgasm builds.

And then she’s coming, jerking so hard from the force of it she thinks she might not be able to keep standing, but Franky’s there, holding her up, keeping her steady. Franky’s fingers slow, but don’t stop, drawing out Erica’s orgasm until she has to push weakly at Franky’s arm, because it’s just too much.

Franky kisses her then, softly, but with a hint of desperation that makes Erica smile. It won’t take much to bring Franky over; it never does after she’s made Erica come. Her fingers slip under the waistband of Franky’s pants, and down past her underwear. Franky shudders, leaning forward to brace herself against the wall as Erica’s fingers easily slide through her arousal.

Erica feels the soft exhale of Franky’s breath against her bare shoulder, coming faster and more pronounced with each pass of her fingertips over Franky’s clit, until Franky shudders, pressing her face into Erica’s skin to muffle the sound of her release.

~

She’s just straightening out her jacket when the loud banging on the cell door startles them both, and a second later, Boomer walks in. Upon seeing them both, she turns around and walks right back out.

Erica looks frantically over herself, and around the room, trying to work out if there was anything to give away what they had just spent the last twenty minutes doing.

“Hey,” Franky says. “It’s okay. She didn’t see anything—”

“It’s not okay, we’re being careless. It’s—”

“It’s okay,” Franky says again. “Besides, Boomer kind of already knows.”

Erica stiffens, the panic she’d been feeling seconds earlier turning immediately into anger. “What the hell, Franky. How is that okay? You told her about us?”

“Of course not, I wouldn’t do that. She worked it out herself.”

“Oh _God_.”

Franky moves towards her, trying to place a placating hand on Erica’s shoulder, but Erica shrugs it off. She can’t understand how Franky doesn’t see this as a big deal. If Boomer could work things out... Oh God.

“It’s over, Franky.”

“Erica...”

“No. I should have ended it months ago. I should have—It’s over.”

She’s starting to shake as she turns to pull the door open, barely even registering Franky’s plea for her to wait, to talk. She feels like she can’t breathe through the feelings of panic, of disbelief that she had ever thought they could get away with this.

She will have to talk to Boomer, tell her she’s gotten things wrong, or maybe not saying anything is better. She doesn’t know, but she’ll figure it out. She has to.

* * *

Franky’s been out for two months. In her last six months inside, they hadn’t said a word to each other beyond what was required between prisoner and governor. Every day had Erica thinking about calling in sick, looking for another job, doing _anything_ to get away from the hurt look in Franky’s eyes every time they were required to talk.

She’d assumed it would be easier once Franky was released, but it turns out not seeing Franky at all is just as hard as seeing her every day and knowing she’s responsible for breaking Franky’s heart.

Eight months is a lot of time to think about what she wants from her life; the things that are important and the things that don’t matter as much.

Franky matters.

~

It’s easy to get the name of the halfway house Franky was released to. It’s even easier to sweet talk the woman running the place into giving her Franky’s new address; being a prison governor does have its advantages.

She knows from the same conversation that Franky’s still studying for her law degree—she must be in her final year by now, Erica thinks—and working part-time in a supermarket near her apartment.

It’s tempting to go to Franky at work, to use the public setting as a shield against their first conversation, but she knows that deep down she doesn’t really want that, it’s just for fear of Franky’s reaction.

The same fear keeps Erica sitting on the wall outside Franky’s apartment for a good ten minutes before finally getting the nerve to start up the steps.

~

She doesn’t have the right words to say, to make things right, and she’s not even sure if she deserves another chance, not after everything, but Franky lets her in without a moment of hesitation, and somehow, she knows they’ll work things out.


End file.
